Tuesday, October 04, 2011

Notice

I don't know if I'll ever get used to this feeling of waking up with all these ideas in my head, swirling around, going to all the places I want to find, create, cultivate, explore. And then it's all gone, minutes later – sometimes there's a transition like eating or going on a walk, and sometimes no transition at all: my brain just goes cloudy, dreary, overwhelmed, unable. Like now: I'm closing my eyes while I'm writing this, that's how tired I am. Still, I want to write something. Before. Before I get back in bed. And then? And then. And then. And then.

And then somehow I will get to therapy. I will get to therapy, and it will be interesting, soothing, maybe helpful in a subtle way. Fun, even? Afterwards, a walk to the bus, where I can appreciate things more – I mean on the walk, not on the bus. And then, once I get home, back to the exhaustion and overwhelmed and then I'll think was it worth it? Going to therapy, if it just makes me this exhausted. But I'm already this exhausted.

Like with my reading in Albuquerque, it went so well, but afterwards oh my. I was a wreck, sitting with people and trying to form sentences. Thinking: how can they expect me to talk, is this what I'm doing, what am I doing, talking. Luckily, though, I don't think I feel dramatically more exhausted than the dramatically more exhausted that I already felt. When does something get better, anything? The doctor likes to ask me if I would know what it would feel like to feel better – she thinks it's been so long of feeling so awful that maybe I wouldn't notice. What an idiotic thing to say – of course I would notice. For now, I just notice that I can always feel worse, I knew that before I took the anti-parasite medications, I mean it's what I told the doctor but instead what she heard was: it couldn’t get worse. It made me so angry when she said that, I mean reported it to me like it was something I had told her, when it was just something she was telling me, and then telling me that I told her.

And then I do feel worse, struggling to pull these words into the me, these words that could, could help, sometimes do, a little, don’t. My eyes are open now, and I don't know what that means exactly. More energy, or less? Time to take off my contacts while there’s still enough time to get up and go outside into the fresh air, yes, it's fresh and cool now, fall it seems, the leaves even falling although if the sun comes out, then it will feel hot again, right? Two hours – I still have two hours, almost.